


The Fire of Your Youth (Went Dark)

by wearenotsaints



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, M/M, complete?, h/c, short pieces, why is everything I write sad?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotsaints/pseuds/wearenotsaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This is who we are when no one else is watching. These are the things we whisper in the dark. These are the parts we wish we could hide. These are the bits that make us whole.</i><br/>Or character studies in the forms of drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire of Your Youth (Went Dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bible Belt by Dry The River.
> 
> Can I just say that I love you guys? The feedback on my first piece blew me away, you guys rock. And inspire me to type all the pieces written in my notebook so I can share them with you lovely people! So thanks and as always reading&reviewing makes my world go round

Louis is always dying his hair in colors to fit his mood; his lifestyle. Or at least that's what he keeps shouting at them every time one of them opens the bathroom door to find him hunched over the bathtub, staining it in permanent rings of scarlet and cerulean, white blonde or lime green.  
  
Zayn is always talking with someone, whether its with the phone pressed tight to the shell of his ear or the empty air of the room around him, the dead he claims to see on nights he can't sleep and he smokes his cigarettes to their filter. His fingertips awash in ash and charcoal, leaving smudges on the frames of doors or whoever's sheets he's slipped into.  
  
Niall is always fighting; a bitter edge to his voice, the lines of his knuckles. Where he's split them open on someone else's flesh or the rough surfaces he's tried to make his home. His smiles are feline and sharp, like his words. Spitting out of his mouth in a razor hiss, like even he's afraid of what they'll become if they're voiced too loud.  
  
Liam is always silent; the quiet bow of his brows where he keeps them furled together. The tight draw of his mouth, like he's holding something back. Always keeping something under wraps, close to the vest. As if to speak them might kill him. Might kill all of them, if he isn't careful. Forever wary of what he allows out. What he allows in.  
  
Harry is always watching; green eyes wide and unblinking. As if he'll miss something within those few crucial milliseconds he lets them close. Josh tells him he's like a ghost, an abused child and Harry laughs so hard his voice cracks. Because there is so much going on, who will notice if he isn't looking? It's not because he's afraid it will all disappear, he got rid of that fear long ago. It's because he doesn't think he could forgive himself if it did. If he's watching, then he's more likely to see the fissure before they turn to full blown cracks. He can protect them if he's vigilant, he can't do shit if he's not. So he cuts his losses; just in case.

  


\--

  


Harry watches them with a sick feeling in his gut, because the only thing he's ever feared was being left behind. Of loving too much and too quickly and being cast aside in the end. He never loves anyone fully because the weight of rejection is a constant dark cloud. Hanging over him like a memory, a constant reminder that he's not enoughenoughenough and he never will be. It hurts worse than the blades he used to hold to his flesh or the substances he used to block out the harsh reality of his truths. The ones Louis told him only existed if he allowed them too. Harry's always been in the habit of letting his fears prevent him from being happy. Some habits only grow stronger with time. Harry's getting down right sick of these specific ones. Because he's spent the past two years fighting tooth and nail to grasp something tangible in his hands, against his skin, where he can feel it and know that it's real. Not having to constantly work to remind himself that yes, he's going to be okay.  
  
It gets old telling yourself you're worth breathing for.  
  
Worth living for.  
  
Niall reminds him with the calloused tips of his fingers, pressed to the crook of Harry's elbows, the backs of his knees, the hair at the nape of his neck. Touching, always touching, as if he does it enough then Harry won't forget.  
It works, until it doesn't.  
  
Liam reminds him with sticky notes, taped to the handle of his coffee cup, his mic stand, the top of his bunk. Places Harry couldn't miss even if he wanted to. Sometimes he wants to. Because they say things like _you are loved_ and _walk tall_ and _they don't know you like we do_. And the weight of it rests heavy on Harry's shoulders, solid and warm, a cloak to keep the rest of everything else away.  
Sometimes it's enough, until it isn't.  
  
Zayn reminds him with looks. Silent, searching glances that make Harry feel like he's being split open wide. All raw sinew and bone and Zayn sees it all, the vicious and the hopeful; the agony and beauty. Scoops it back up in his hands and holds it out to Harry like an offering. As if to say **I know you** and **I am you** in one fell swoop. Reminds him in the way he rests their foreheads together and breathes with him till Harry has no choice but to open his eyes and meet Zayn head on.  
It helps, until it doesn't.  
  
Louis reminds him in the arch of his voice, in the dip and timber of his laugh. In the rough grate of his whisper or the jarring pitch of his yell. He shakes Harry to the core, slipping into Harry's psyche with soft words and mumbled exhales. Louis reminds in the gaps between their sentences and the breaths between choruses, with the pauses he takes before a kiss and the swears he utters when he comes. Harry burns long after in the silence, Louis's words like a shadow, forever following; there whether you're looking directly at it or not.  
It's alright, until it isn't.

  



End file.
